Chart the Stars
by Paradoxygen
Summary: SEQUEL to Immune. A Young boy takes off on a heroic journey to track down his mother and solve the mystery she left behind. With a world left with so few people, just who was she trying to save? M for language.
1. Prologue

"Hello. My name is Benjamin Dillon. I am eighteen years old. I know I'm not off to a great start here, but bear with me. This gets much better.

I was born two years after a disease known as the Green Flu claimed the lives of nearly every citizen of the United States of America. With a population in the thousands, all hope seemed lost for the once strong country. Bombs were dropped, infected shot, and countless acres of land were left abandoned. Many remain empty to this day.

I didn't come here to give you all a history lesson you've heard before. I came here to do the only thing I do with any skill…tell you all a story.

My early years of life were the best I've lived so far. My mother taught me everything I could ever hope to learn about life, love, beauty, and most importantly, imagination. I grew up never seeing with my own eyes the creatures from my picture books. The first animal I ever saw was a deer. At age four, she walked me through our orchard to look at the blooming flowers. My father was close by, just as he has been my entire life. The deer was large and magnificent with antlers like a prestigious crown. It stared into my eyes for a full minute before disappearing slowly into the brush. As I grew, I discovered more hidden creatures. Every frog, fly, snake, and bird was a miracle in itself.

Throughout my childhood, I had one friend whom I am proud to stay is still my friend to this day. He never judged me for my flaws, always a source of comfort and most of the time, a nagging voice that made me better. Every day of high school was a challenge, but I don't speak academically. I was the target of nearly every bully on campus for one reason or another. I am proud to say that I was David's shield. I took every blow that was sent his way, even though more often than not, they were directed at me anyway. I'd like to say that this made me stronger and that I was a skilled fighter. I was not then, and I certainly am not now.

Even though I was hated by many, I never let it bother me. At least, not too bad. The life I knew was small, but I was well on my way to college by age fifteen. Everyone who didn't know me thought I was very smart. Everyone who does know me knows that I'm no smarter than the average kid. I have what doctors call Eidetic Memory. Simply put…I can remember every sight, every smell, and every sound from my life with near perfect precision.

I never thought this curse would be useful until October 17th, 2029. That was the day my mother left for a drive and never came home.

Two years later, on October 27th, 2031, I made a discovery. She had not been murdered or kidnapped. She had not driven her car off a mountain ridge or run away with a lover. My mother had been secretly obsessing for seventeen years. She trusted nobody with her plans, and with good reason. It was a long-shot, a wild goose chase, and the bravest thing I'd ever heard of. My mother had been soft and gentle my entire life. Everything I learned about her in two hours was enough to shake me from my gray existence. She was alive and I had to find her."


	2. The Painted Attic

Crisp, crunchy leaves littered the sidewalks and streets of the small town of New Billings, Montana. Technically, the town was rebuilt, though nowhere near where the old city used to be. It hugged the Canadian border like a life line, but any signs of the infection had been absent for nearly twenty years. The town was surrounded by an enormous steel fence that had only three gates. These gates were monitored twenty-four hours a day but not nearly as strictly as when the new town was first founded. Life was quiet, but not empty. There had been many survivors of the infection, though to this day, the exact death count still remained a guess.

A young man of about eighteen walked alone down the sidewalk, heavy backpack hanging on one shoulder. His shirt was ironed but un-tucked, visible through his open black jacket. His brown hair hung in his eyes and around his ears, hiding his narrow blue eyes. A cigarette hung from his lips as he walked with his head up, looking around at the nearby homes. His stride was that of a loner, a young man who knew how to handle himself. He walked up the concrete steps of the last house on the right. Before walking inside, he stomped out his smoke on the porch and kicked it aside.

He walked inside past the sleeping figure of his father on the couch. (It seemed like all he ever did now was work and sleep.)The young man walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Hanging on the door under a magnet was a faded poster with his mother's picture.

'**HAVE YOU SEEN ME?**' It read in bold letters.

He closed the door and popped open a can of soda, hardly glancing at the familiar picture. Walking back to the couch, he noticed his dad had fallen asleep without as much as a pillow beneath his neck.

_The snow was falling lightly outside the window. Paintings littered the walls. Every work of art was different, though all shared common themes. The elements lingered somewhere in each piece. Ben's favorite at the time had been a man made of fire. It hung over the fireplace, perfectly visible from where the young boy crouched on the stairs. He looked down at his parents embracing in the center of the room near the brightly lit Christmas tree. She looked so beautiful, laughing as his father spun her around. An instrumental version of 'Silent Night' was playing. Ben was supposed to be asleep, but he enjoyed watching his parents dance. Something told him that he knew they were aware of his presence._

The young man pulled a pillow off the nearby recliner and gently pushed it under his dad's head. He took off his own jacket and draped it over Nick. He picked up his drink and walked slowly upstairs to begin the task of gathering up information for his college applications.

Carefully pushing open the door to his parents' room, he walked quietly to the desk. His dad must've kept tax return information around here somewhere. He rooted through the desk drawer, finding nothing more interesting than a pack of playing cards. Moving over to the closet, he noticed a brown box sitting up on the shelf. He reached up and pulled it down, trying not to knock anything over. Nick was a light sleeper.

When he set it on the bed and pulled back the lid, the young man found stacks of plain brown leather-bound journals. He remembered seeing his mother writing in them throughout his childhood years and had always wondered what she did with them. He picked up one from the top and opened it up. After a quick skim through, he figured out that it was one of her older ones. It was filled with the things she'd done that day, nothing more interesting than anyone else's average day. With a shrug, he set it back down where he got it and closed the lid on the box.

"_Mommy, what are you doing?"_

"_Just writing." She smiled, looking down at where he was playing on the floor._

_Benjamin looked up at her on the window seat. "What are you writing?"_

"_I'm writing about you, Ben. When you're older, you can read all about your life. You might find it interesting." Morgan spoke softly._

In the empty space on the closet shelf, he noticed a large yellow envelope. When he took that down, he opened it up and found the paperwork he was looking for. He set the papers on the desk and picked up the box, intending to slide it back up where his father had stored it. But when he picked it up, the bottom gave out and all the journals poured onto the hardwood floor.

"Tits!" He cursed, tossing the broken box aside as he bent down to pick them up.

With a nearly full stack in his hands, he reached out to grab another but paused. The last journal didn't look like the others in his hands. This one had frayed pages and a large smear of what looked like black paint on the cover. He set down the stack carefully and picked up the dirty journal, bringing it to his nose.

"Blood…?" He pondered aloud, carefully lifting back the cover. It crackled beneath his fingers as if it hadn't been opened for years.

If two months ago someone would've told me that I would end up leading a group of three other people across the country with nothing but my wits and a shotgun keeping us alive, I would've laughed myself into a coma. I'm not the type to hold a gun let alone fire it. The most important thing I've ever led was a costume team in a school play.

Yet here I am.

The green flu had spread quickly through the south. The media could barely cover it as fast as it was being spread and evacuations were so hasty and poorly executed that many people were left behind. I was one of those unlucky people. But I didn't just lay down and wait for the horde like many people who were left for dead. I picked up my father's shotgun and set out to find other survivors and maybe...just maybe...make it through this.

- Morgan Ambrose. October 16th, 2011.

His eyes widened and he stood up slowly, still looking down at the sun bleached page. The words were right there in front of him, exposing every lie she had ever told him about her encounter with the flu. _All her scars….there was never a car accident. She fought infected. Why would she lie about that?_

He turned the page, a sudden desire to know the true face of his mother overwhelming him. His eyes moved faster over her handwritten pages than they ever had for any textbook. The Green Flu had been a taboo subject in this home ever since the first day he'd learned of its history.

"What happened to you back then, Mom?" He asked the empty room. "What did you see?"

"Ben?"

He looked up and saw his dad standing in the doorway. Nick seemed worried, an expression he didn't wear often.

"Pop, what is this?" Ben asked, looking up from where he sat on the bed.

"That's your mother's. Put it back where you found it." Nick spoke harshly.

"You never told me she lived through the Green flu. You two always said you lived in Maine and fled at the first sign of trouble. She was in Florida!"

"Ben, she didn't want you getting any ideas. Just give me the book back." Nick spoke, holding out his hand.

"Just let me read it first. Please. I want to know everything my teachers won't tell me."

"They aren't telling you for a reason. Nobody wants to remember that shit."

"Maybe it could help us find her."

"Ben, that damn book has nothing to do with what is happening now. All that shit happened before you were even born." Nick snapped.

"She's missing and nobody is looking for her."

"She went missing two years ago. They _stopped _looking for her. They think I killed her!"

"We both know you wouldn't ever dream of hurting Mom. Let me read this journal and maybe-"

"Maybe you'll figure out what I haven't been able to for two goddamn years?" Nick yelled. "There's nothing in there but death, and zombies, and shit. It won't tell you anything worth knowing."

"It will tell me who she really is." Ben spoke quietly, looking his father in the eyes.

Nick stood there for a moment, the lines around his tired eyes drawn deep. "Fine." He sighed. "Memorize the damn thing for all I care. Just don't get any crazy ideas. That is all in the past. There's nothing in there that will help you now."

Nick ran his hands through his hair and sighed, looking back at his boy. "I'm going out for a while. I'll bring something back for dinner."

Benjamin watched him walk out, knowing that he would come home with alcohol on his breath. He sat back down and opened the book again, letting himself sink into his mother's words. She was out there, somewhere.

Resting his chin on his fist, he glanced down at the stack of journals he'd set aside. _Maybe I should read those too. She couldn't have just vanished into thin air. Dad probably shoved all these aside without even glancing at them._

He looked back up at the desk where the envelope of statements sat waiting for him. Ben stood up and put the envelope back into the closet before taking all 18 journals across the hall to his bedroom.

Starting with the beaten journal, Ben sat down at his desk and turned to page four. He'd trained himself to skim, his condition making it too much of a chore to read entire books. This book was the exception. Turning on his desk lamp, he leaned over the dirty pages and slowly read over every hand-written word.

I feel I'm getting ahead of myself. We've found a house to rest in for now. Kaylee and Zack are still eating in the living room and I'm not sure where Alan has gotten off to. We've only been together a few days, but I'm confident we can make it through this.

Encountered a smoker today. I didn't think I'd be able to handle another close encounter, but I have a habit of surprising myself. I never wrote down my first encounter. It is a memory I have been trying very hard to forget but…why not.

I had been alone two days after returning to find that my parents had been evacuated. I remember that it was late and everything was dark. I awoke to the sound of someone with a horrible hacking cough. When I opened the door and stared down at the seemingly endless hallway, a tall and skinny figure was looming at the other end. My first thought was that Slender Man had come to take me away. I tried to shut the door, but that long intestine-like tongue shot forth from its slimy jaws and wrapped around my waist. I fell to my stomach and began to claw at the floor, screaming as it reeled me in like a fish. I grabbed onto the frame of an open door and pulled with all my strength. My father's shotgun was on the table where I'd so foolishly left it that morning. As I grabbed onto the table leg, the Smoker pulled harder. Everything on the table fell to the floor on top of me and in my panic I grabbed the first thing my fingers touched.

It was by pure luck that it was the shot gun. I rolled onto my back and cocked the gun as I let the Slender Man pull me closer. I saw its face with perfect clarity. I saw the pus swirling within its many boils, looked deep into those lifeless orange eyes. I held up the gun and squeezed the trigger, plastering the family portrait behind it with chunks of rotting brain matter and skull shards.

-Morgan Ambrose. October 21st, 2011.

Ben stopped for a moment to pull up his internet browser. After a few clicks and key words, he found an image of the infected known as 'Smoker'. A few more clicks pulled up some closer pictures, though the quality wasn't as good as he would have liked.

"Holy shit…" He mumbled, putting a hand over his mouth.

He put his laptop back to sleep and picked up the journal, walking over to his bed to get more comfortable. The more he read, the more his image of his mother changed. She had been only nineteen when it all happened. Two other names he recognized.

"Kaylee works at the bakery on 14th. Zack works for the rail road and has three trucks." He spoke aloud. "Their daughter Zelda is thirteen and has two cats, Purrito and Jacob."

He tapped his lip and pointed at the name he didn't recognize. "Alan. Dark hair, beard, scrawny but good-looking. I've never met this person."

Benjamin continued to read, even as the sun moved down over the mountains and disappeared. When it became too dark to read, he stopped and rubbed his eyes. He looked over at the clock by his bed before turning on his other lamp. He'd never read so much in one sitting and it was time for a break. He opened his bedroom door and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower and turned on the water. As relaxing steam began to fill the space, he began to go over what he'd learned.

"Coach. Teaches football at my high school. Ellis. The best mechanic in town. Never married but in a long term relationship with Maria, a horse breeder. Had a sexual relationship with my mother. Rochelle. A news anchor. Kind-hearted. I've never met this person. Bill. Veteran of war. Very tough. Died when I was ten. Francis. Works with Ellis and is often out of town. Louis. Great with computers. Has fixed mine three times. A good friend. Keith. Accident prone but loyal. I've never met this person."

He rubbed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cold tile. Saying things aloud to himself was a sure way to keep them in his mind, but the headache brewing was a sign that he should stop reading for a while.

He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, wondering if Nick had stumbled home yet. Bending down to pick up the clothes he'd left on the floor, he noticed the pocket of his jeans was vibrating. He fished out his phone.

"Hello?"

"_Ben! Where are you? I've been waiting out here for twenty minutes!"_ David fussed on the other end.

"Oh, shit! I forgot, I'm sorry."

"_You forgot? That's a joke, right?"_

"Very funny." Ben sighed, walking back to his room with his clothes under his arm. "Give me ten minutes."

"_Fine, fine. Ten minutes."_

Ben flipped his phone closed and pulled out a clean pair of jeans from his dresser. He grabbed a black hoodie and pulled it on over his still damp skin, shaking his shaggy hair once before taking a black ski mask out of his top drawer. He pulled it down over his face and picked up a small black backpack from beside the door.

* * *

><p>The night was unforgivably cold. David let out a frustrated sigh, a cloud of breath rising up past his face. His soft black hair hung down to his shoulders, groomed with precision so as not to interfere with his vision. His face was a flattering mix of white and Asian, with sweet brown eyes. He looked down at his sleeve and pushed it back to check his watch. The dim blue back light lit up his face briefly before he pushed the sleeve back down.<p>

The sound of feet against gravel made him turn around. At first, there was nothing to see, but then Ben's blue jeans caught in the light of the street lamp overhead.

"It's about time you showed up." David pouted.

"Sorry, man. I got distracted."

"What happened?"

"I found a journal my mom wrote." Ben explained, bending down to catch his breath.

"Didn't she have a bunch of those?"

"Yeah, but this one is different." He replied, standing up. "She wrote it while she was running from the infected. She lived in Florida!"

"You're kidding me!"

"No, I'm serious." Ben smiled, pulling off his backpack and dropping it onto the gravel. "She fought the zombies."

"Your mom fought zombies? I don't believe it."

"Well I have proof. When Dad saw me with the journals, he freaked out. They have to be real. There's blood on the pages too."

"Gross."

Ben rolled his eyes and unzipped the bag. "How long do we have?"

"The guard comes around every half hour, so about twenty minutes." David replied.

"Plenty of time."

David pulled a black mask out of his pocket and carefully pulled it over his face. "I'm going to get hat hair…"

"It's hair. It'll be fine."

"That's easy for you to say. You have the hair of a homeless, crazy person."

"I wash it!"

"Once a week doesn't count." David laughed.

"I don't think I'm half as disgusting as you make me sound."

"You could at least brush it."

Ben reached into the bag and tossed David a can of spray paint. "We have a deadline."

"Yeah yeah." He sighed, shaking the can as he began to walk around the side of the storage facility.

Once around the corner, the young boys looked up at the perfect canvas. The side of the aluminum building had no windows or doors. Anyone driving down that side of the road would be forced to look at the large gray wall for a few brief seconds. Life was already dull and gray, at least in their opinion, so why should the world have to reflect that?

Ben squatted down and let David (Who was considerably lighter) climb up onto his shoulders. In his arms, Ben held the remaining cans of spray paint. David popped off the lid of the can he'd been shaking and aimed at the wall. He worked quickly, creating the bright red outline of a rose in only a few minutes.

"Pink." David spoke.

Ben tossed the canister up to David, who quickly shook it and removed the lid. The outline was filled in, taking up the entire can. With what was left of the red, he went back and shaded in the darker parts. Throwing the empty can to the ground, David held his hand out for the next color.

"Green."

Two leaves were added to the bottom, filled in with a lighter green and shaded.

"Five minutes." Ben warned, tossing up the last can.

David popped the top from the black. "What should it say?"

Starting to feel the strain of holding David up, Ben replied through gritted teeth. "Welcome to New Billings."

"Ugh, fine." David sighed, adding in the sentence in neat cursive letters.

"I think I hear someone coming." Ben whispered.

David jumped down and picked up the empty cans. "Then let's go."

Just as the guard rounded the corner, the two trouble makers were already over the fence. It was a short run to the empty lot where Ben had parked the car, but it felt longer with the adrenaline.

"Do you think…those journals are connected?" David asked between breaths as they ran.

"To her disappearance?"

"I guess. I just meant with each other."

The paused at the car, looking around for anyone who may have followed. "I never thought of that."

David pulled off his mask and shook out his hair. "Your mom wasn't like most people, Ben. If she left those behind, it was probably on purpose."

Ben took out a pack of smokes from his pocket and lit one up. He mulled over his friend's words as he took a drag. "So...what? You think we should go look through them?"

"It's not like we were invited to any parties tonight. Besides this, I had nothing planned." David smirked.

"Alright. You can have a look. It was giving me a headache anyway."

David opened the passenger door and got in. As soon as Ben put the key in the ignition, David reached over and turned on the heat. "We can bring them up into her attic."

"I'm not allowed up there." Ben replied automatically.

"She's not here. She can't yell at you. Jeeze, didn't you or Nick go up there at least once to check for a body?"

"He went up there once!" Ben replied, getting frustrated. "Okay, yeah. We'll go up there and move books around in her bookshelf until it opens a secret passageway. Happy?"

"It's an attic. If there was a passage up there, you would have seen it by now."

"Sarcasm!"

* * *

><p>When they pulled into the gravel driveway, Ben noticed that Nick's car was is the driveway. He sighed in relief, just happy that he'd made it home. He cut the engine and walked up the concrete steps, opening the door as quietly as possible. Nick's jacket was lying over the couch and there was a bag of groceries on the counter.<p>

"He must be upstairs." Ben spoke, digging through the bag of food.

"Let's get to the attic." David said, excitement in his voice.

The young men jogged up the narrow spiral stairs into the attic where Morgan had spent much of the past fifteen years. Ben felt around on the dark wall for a moment before finding the switch. As the lights slowly kicked on, the dusty space lit up. All over the walls were large painted murals, each one just as bright and colorful as they day they'd been painted.

David stepped in first, brown almond-shaped eyes eager to see the space for the first time. He crossed over the creaky wooden floors with interest as particles of dust floated through the air. Books had been scattered everywhere along the floor and small metal desk. A single wooden easel was propped in the corner beside an empty table, and other than the single arm chair, there wasn't much else to see.

"This is it?" David spoke first, breaking the crushing silence. "Just paintings and books?"

"I think she just used this place for reading." Ben sighed. "I don't know what I even expected to find. Sure, she was a bit different but she was still just my mom."

"She survived the flu, you said it yourself. You have the book."

"It's just a diary!" Ben spoke a little louder than he meant to. "It's just like my dad said. There is nothing but depression and monsters in those pages. Maybe we should just drop it and go back downstairs."

"Was anyone else in it?" David asked.

"Well, yeah. Kaylee, Zack, Ellis, my dad, and some other people." He shrugged, looking around at the sad little space.

"No kidding…so, all people we still know?"

"Well…not exactly. There were some people I didn't recognize." Ben explained, holding out his fingers and pointing at them as he spoke, "A man named Alan, a man named Keith, and a woman named Rochelle. I haven't finished it yet so I don't know more."

"Where is the journal? Maybe they're important."

"Important how?" Ben exclaimed as he grew more exasperated. "They're probably all dead. Just…people who didn't make it."

"We came here to read them so let's read them." David spoke, looking away from Ben and back to the walls.

"Fine. I'll go get the journal I haven't finished. If we find out what happened to them, can we drop this whole idea?"

"Yeah." David nodded. "Let's just find out who they were."

"Okay. You wait here and I'll be right back."

Ben went back to the staircase and made his way down as David continued to look around the room. While he waited, David walked to the nearest wall to examine the painting there. It was a large peacock with feathers that looked like they were on fire…or perhaps made of fire. He reached out with his hand to touch the painting, admiring her careful strokes. As his eyes scanned the rough surface it was painted on, he noticed something off about the painting. He licked his lip in thought as he got closer, using his free hand to tap on the wall.

"Okay, I found the journal." Ben spoke, climbing back up the stairs.

"Ben, come here."

"What is it?" He asked, walking over.

"This section of her painting isn't right." David explained, pointing to the chest of the bird.

"What do you mean?"

"A square section of the wall was taken out and replaced. She painted over it but the colors are different. When she mixed the colors, she was slightly off. See how the blue is more green here than the rest of it?" David asked.

"Yeah…I guess. But I don't think-"

"Also." David continued, knocking on the wall. "There's nothing behind it. The rest of the area around it makes a different noise."

Ben straightened up, folding his arms with the dirty book still in his grip. "Are you saying that my mom was hiding shit in the walls?"

David stood up as well. "Maybe. Only one way to find out."

After staring at David for a moment, Ben gave in and took a pocket knife from the back pocket of his jeans. "You read too many detective books."

"Right there, where the section is different." David pointed.

Ben carefully carved the wall along the seam David was pointing to. It took several minutes, but the boys managed to carve out a section of wall 6 inches tall by 6 inches across. Just as David thought, part of the wall had been taken out and covered up by a thin sheet of ply wood. Her painting had hidden it all these years. Ben brought up a flash light from downstairs and shined it into the hole.

"Do you see anything?"

"A lot of dust…a dead mouse…wait a minute…"

"What?" David asked, taking the flashlight as Ben thrust it into his hands.

The brown haired boy reached his arm down into the hole and brought out a small tin box. They moved over to the empty table and set it down, both just staring at it in disbelief. Ben swallowed a lump in his throat and gently lifted off the lid.

Inside was a small notepad, just big enough to fit into a pocket. The pages were slightly yellowed and crisp, but still perfectly intact. Ben pulled back the plain black cover and the two of them read the words that had been scrawled there at the same time.

They can be saved.

When Ben's hand began to shake, David took the little notepad out of his hand and turned to the next page only to find it blank. The next page after was blank and so forth until the end of the pad.

"What does that even mean?" Ben yelled, grabbing his shaggy hair in his hands. "Who can be saved? Where is my fucking mom?"

"Ben, calm down! Look, this is her handwriting." David pointed. "She wrote this. Let me see the journal. I want to take some notes."

Ben dropped the old book onto the table, shoving his hands under his arms to calm the shaking.

"Alan, that was the first name right?"

"Yeah. Alan. He has dark hair and he's good with medicine."

"How far did you read?" David asked, holding out the open book.

"Page 156, halfway down." He muttered.

David quickly turned to the page where he left off and leaned against the table. "While I read through this, you should get the other books."

"Okay." Ben spoke, just happy to have something to do. He walked slowly back downstairs and grabbed the stack of journals from atop his desk. The walk back was even slower. Ben had wanted to know where his mom had vanished to for the past two years and now that he finally had a clue, he was so panicked he could hardly think straight. He dropped the pile on the floor of the attic once he'd returned, making David jump with shock.

"Ben, come here. Read this." David spoke, holding out the journal.

He reached out and took it nervously, deep blue eyes moving slowly across the page.

We left him there. It had been for the good of the group to abandon Alan. His mind was too far gone and it put everyone in danger. But what we did to him wasn't just cruel, it was inhumane. Coach gave him a gun but I knew the man would never use it. He was a terrible shot and had been since the day I found him. He had been my responsibility and I allowed us to drive away. My heart will always be connected to his. I owe him my life several times over, we all do.

Yet still we left him to die.

Ben shoved the book back into David's hands. "No more. I don't want to read anymore."

"Okay, okay." David spoke, closing the book. "That was the past anyway. We need to know what she was thinking recently. Are these dated?"

"No." Ben shook his head. "They all look the same on the outside."

David sat down on the floor in front of the small pile, picking up the first journal he saw. Ben slowly sat down across from him, taking one as well.

It had been nearly an hour. Ben rubbed his forehead, trying to sooth the aching headache that had been lurking there all night. None of these books had told them anything more interesting than a new recipe, how her day went, or even worse, what she and Nick had been up to. Ben closed another book and tossed it aside.

"If I have to read about any more of my dad's moves I think I'm going to puke." Ben sighed. "Can we just give this up? She didn't leave any clues. It's like she just got up and walked away."

"Hang on…" David interrupted, holding up a hand as his lips moved in unison with the words he was reading. "I think this is it."

"What is it?"

"I heard the voice again." David spoke, reading from the text. "She is young and sweet, and I feel like I know her even though we've never met. She told me that they could all be saved if I hurried. The voice of this girl told me things about myself I've never told anyone. I trust her. I have to go now before the window passes. Telling anyone would waste precious seconds that I don't have. Nick, if you find this, I love you. Tell Ben I will be home as soon as I can. There is something very important that I have to do."

When David looked up, he and Ben held eye contact for nearly a full minute. "Did Nick ever?"

"No." Ben shook his head. "He never saw that. He never read her diaries. They were hers."

"This can't be the only time she mentions this voice." David spoke up, getting excited again. "C'mon we have to dig through these. Somewhere she must have left something. We have to find out where she went and why. We need to find out who she is trying to save and if she did save them."

"David!"

"What?" He asked, looking up from the pile he was already going through.

"It's 3 in the morning. My head is going to explode if I read one more sentence. I'm going to bed and you're going to sleep too. I can't…deal with this right now."

"Yeah." He nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay. Tomorrow."


End file.
